


Our Dear Prompto

by ohmyfae



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Violence, chapter 13 spoilers, some fluff at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 08:44:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8838028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmyfae/pseuds/ohmyfae
Summary: Filling in some plot-holes in regards to chapter 13. Chapter 13 spoilers, of course! Spaced out over different points in the game.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers ahoy!  
> Prompto deals with his past as the team fights against the empire in the present. This part is set in the beginning of the game.

“Prompto! I need help, here!”

Prompto glanced up as Noctis, crown prince of Lucis, tumbled facefirst into a bush. Fire danced at Noct's fingertips, and he jerked his head at the swarm of MT soldiers behind him. Prompto grabbed Noct by the arm and swung him ‘round as the prince cast a blast of magic at the clustered MTs, giving Noct the extra boost needed to warp out of the splash zone.  
“Yeah!” Prompto whipped around, fists clenched in an exaggerated victory pose. “You sure ‘Noct’ that out of t—“

“Please, don’t,” said Ignis, laying a hand on Prompto’s shoulder. Gladio grinned, and pushed Noct from behind in what, from him, was a moment of high praise. Prompto pulled out his camera and took a step back. He skidded a little on the charred earth—

And fell. Prompto nearly dropped the camera in his mad scramble to twist around and kick out at the glowing, shuddering remains of an MT axeman, which held his ankle in a vice-like grip. Their mouth was cracked open in a soundless scream, the red glow of wires jutting out from a ruined throat. They twisted Prompto’s ankle with their right hand, and for a moment, the young gunner saw a flash of code behind a glass screen on the MT’s wrist. A tattoo on flesh. 

He pulled out his gun. This close, he didn’t have to aim.

“Well, that was something straight out of a nightmare,” Noctis said, when the smoke cleared. He spoke in the calm, even tone that Prompto recognized as his Three Seconds From Panicking Voice. The prince knelt at his side and helped him dislodge the dead MT’s glove from Prompto’s ankle. It took a while, especially with Ignis and Gladio leaning over to tell them to be _careful,_ don’t pull so fast, maybe we should administer a tetanus shot just in case.

“Guys, I’m fine.” Prompto yanked himself to his feet. “See?”

“Yes,” said Gladio, shortly. “I do.” He looked pointedly at Prompto’s ankle, which was streaming red with blood. 

Noct slung an arm around Prompto’s shoulder. “Come on, action hero,” he said. “Let’s get you to camp and stick you full of needles.”

“Gee. Definitely how _I_ wanted to end the day.”

Gladio and Ignis shared an exasperated look as the younger members of their team limped off into the brush. 

“Not much can phase Prompto.” Gladio shook his head. “He has potential, if he can survive long enough to see it through.”

“Don’t tell _him_ that,” said Ignis. “There will be no living with him.”  
\-----  
That night, Noct found Prompto sitting at the edge of the protective stones of the camp. He was running the fingers of his left hand under the bands at his right wrist, over and over, as though trying to ease a burn. When Noct stepped into view, Prompto let out a shaky breath and yanked his hands down. It was a useless gesture. He always fiddled with his bracelets or wrist band when he was anxious, and Noct had known him long enough to notice.

Noct collapsed at his side. 

“Rough day,” he said. 

“Yeah.”

They sat in silence for a while. A daemon staggered out of the earth a few hundred feet away and lumbered into the dark. In the distance, the lights of a safe haven lent a grey haze to the sky. Prompto’s breathing slowed. An hour passed before he was calm enough to ease his weight onto Noct’s shoulder. Noct settled against the rock, positioning himself so that he was a buffer between the stone and his friend. 

Ignis and Gladio found them the next morning. Noct claimed that the late night excursion was his idea, and so was subjected to yet another lecture on how his highness should sleep in a tent with the rest of the common folk, thank you kindly. Noct bore it all with his usual sardonic humor, which put Ignis in a mood for most of the morning. Gladio cast Noct and Prompto a knowing look, but didn’t push the issue. 

The next time Prompto fought an MT, it was easier to look into the glowing pits of their eyes and not see a human there. He stopped himself from getting too close, from checking their arms or necks for a telltale serial code. He kept back, and shot them down, and tried not to think about it. 

Sometimes, on long car rides, he caught himself thinking, _What would I have been, if I hadn’t run? ___One of the snipers, maybe. Not an assassin, those were made special. Or maybe his body would have rejected the MT treatment, and he would have turned into a daemon. When his brain went in that direction, he’d swing around in his seat and pester Gladio until Ignis inevitably reached over to tug him down again.

He wasn’t sure how far he’d made it in the MT program. He’d been so young when he was swept into what turned out to be an escape of potential MTs, orchestrated by a few scientists who had seen enough. He vaguely remembered someone holding his wrist to his face and repeating, “This is your key. Turn left, third door, follow the rail.” He remembered not knowing what a rail was, and being too afraid to ask. There were even fainter memories of a daemon in the corridor, someone screaming, an older kid shoving him into a doorway. 

In the end, he made it to Insomnia alone. Prompto had been very careful to cover the code on his wrist. He kept his head down, didn’t talk to anyone, and tried to convince himself that he was human. The camera was his saving grace. He took pictures of everything. For so long, all he’d known was darkness, the rumble of movement, the short reprieves from the box that had served as his home. A face, at times, an older man with light hair and a worried scowl. Nothing he could hold onto, nothing with a purpose. In Lucis, he could preserve snapshots of life, of beauty. If they found him again, he’d have something to remember. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ardyn camps out with the bros the night before they go to the Disc of Cauthess. Prompto has an unsettling experience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based off of that animation you get between chapter 3 and 4 when you camp out at the caravan with Ardyn. Why was he reaching for Prompto in that scene? 
> 
> Also, you could see the barcode peeking out from under Prompto's wristbands in a number of his selfies. It's not too much of a stretch to think that Ardyn may notice...

It was the night before the team was to follow Ardyn to the Disc, and Prompto was on watch. 

Ignis had decided it: Noct was too unreliable to count on to stay awake, so Prompto, Ignis, and Gladiolus were to take turns staying up to keep an eye on their unwelcome guest. The close quarters meant that if anything happened, the others could be roused right away, so Ignis assured Prompto that it was just a formality. 

Still, it was _boring. ___Ardyn didn’t sleep; He just lay there in the corner near the door, hands behind his head, smiling softly. Nearly an hour went by before he swung his legs over the edge of the bunk and made his way to the door. Prompto stood.

_Fresh air,_ the man mouthed, with an exaggerated grin. He stepped out of the caravan quietly—Prompto followed with a grimace. Just another hour, and it would be Gladio’s turn. 

“Beautiful night,” Ardyn said, as Prompto closed the caravan door behind him. The man was seated on one of the plastic chairs just outside, his feet propped up on the table. “Care to join me?” 

“Whatever, dude.” Prompto sat on another chair and pointedly took out his gun. He was working on a special shot that would jam MT signals if it actually fired—That last part being the most difficult. He pulled out his tools and spread them out on his side of the table. 

He worked in silence for a while. _This is a waste of time,_ he thought. The creep was obviously trying to mess with them. What difference would it make if they took the chance to get some shut-eye instead of watching him stare at the Disc? 

“I see you’re a hand with machines.” Prompto jumped. So much for hoping he would stay quiet. He looked up at Ardyn, who had set his feet on the ground and was leaning forward with a vague, distant smile. 

“I guess.” Prompto shifted his right arm so it covered what he was doing. Ardyn glanced at his possessive hand, paused, and then smiled so brightly that Prompto wondered if he didn’t actually find something amusing. 

“I expect,” Ardyn said, “you have a natural aptitude for it.” 

“O-kay.” Prompto drew the syllables out in an imitation of Ardyn’s tone. “Whatever you say.” 

Ardyn’s smile deepened, and quick as a snake, he gripped Prompto’s chin in one hand. Prompto jumped back, skidding his chair on the asphalt, and Ardyn froze for a moment before he drew away. 

“Ah,” he said. “I _thought_ I’d seen someone like you before.” 

“Yeah,” Prompto said, shakily. “We’re called commoners. We’re everywhere.” 

"If you say so, it must be true.” 

The door of the caravan opened, and Gladio stepped out. “Heard a noise,” he said. “Everything all right?” 

“Of course,” Ardyn said. “Just catching up with _dear_ Prompto.” 

Gladio’s gaze hardened. “Wasn’t talking to you.” He looked at Prompto, who nodded. “I’ll take over. Go get your beauty sleep.” 

“See you in the morning,” Ardyn called, as Prompto cleared up his supplies and turned to leave. 

He shuddered. Something about that man wasn’t right. And what had he meant, _someone like you?_ Unconsciously, Prompto ran a hand over the tattoo on his wrist, and left Ardyn to Gladio’s careful eye. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set a little before and around chapter 13: Prompto goes home. i.e. I get to suffer, you get to suffer, we all get to suffer!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, there's going to be some description of pain and violence in this one. Because suffering. Also, it's highly unlikely that any of the top brass of the empire are still alive at this point, so Prompto's mysterious parentage is only alluded to here.

It was bad enough being thrown off a moving train by your best friend. It was worse when the man who orchestrated the fall was the first to find you.

Prompto saw blood on the dirt as Ardyn yanked him up from behind; Spots of it, dark and irregular. He spat, and winced. He must have cracked his jaw somewhere in the fall. He could feel blood oozing sluggishly down his nose and temple as well, and his legs felt like they were on fire.

“Uh- _uh_ ,” Ardyn said, when Prompto’s legs buckled. “None of that. As much as I enjoy your company, I will not be carrying you _all the_ way.”

“Go to hell.”

“Oh, dear.” He was yanked back, and he stumbled over stone and thistle as Ardyn half dragged him away from the train tracks. “You’re _supposed_ to say, ‘Carry me where?’ and then _I’ll_ say—“

“Go to hell,” Prompto said, again.

There was a brief moment of reprieve when Ardyn paused to think this over. “No, I don’t think that’s it. Points for persistence, though. What I’m trying to say is I’m doing you a favor.” Prompto was thrown unceremoniously to the ground at Ardyn’s feet. He looked up to see a magitech carrier touch down a hundred feet away in a monstrous roar of wind. The eyes of the MT soldiers glowed like dying stars in the growing dark.

“I am taking you _home_.”

\--

Prompto had to wonder at Ardyn’s definition of home.

Home, according to Ardyn, was Prompto being strapped into an empty seat in a row of MTs, the plugs that would have gone into the unit in his place hanging and sparking at his neck. It meant watching the death throes of an MT strapped in a few feet in front of him as something went wrong with its wiring, it meant fading in and out of consciousness as the pain from his jaw and legs bloomed fresh with nothing to distract him. It meant waking to find he was being dragged down a narrow hall by an MT swordsman with a hand that burned his skin. 

The sound of Ardyn’s footsteps ahead of his captor was disturbingly familiar on the metal floor—Prompto heaved in a surge of panic, but the MT continued to drag him at a steady pace. Rows and rows of boxes lined the walls. They were containment units for potential MTs, flashing with red lights and ferried across the vast room for maintenance. It was at this point that Prompto heard someone shouting, as though from a great distance: It took him a moment to realize that person was him.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” said Ardyn. “I have a different place in mind for you.” The chancellor stepped around the MT and into Prompto’s line of sight. “I thought it would be nice for you to see the old homestead, but I can’t abide the noise.” He swept his hand back, and Prompto fell into darkness.

\--

He woke sometime later.

“Do you think,” Ardyn said, “That the prince will recognize you when he sees you?”

Prompto looked up through a haze of exhaustion and pain, and focused on the dim shape of the chancellor in the corner of the holding cell. He couldn’t remember how long he’d been here. Straps bound him upright against a metal cross—There was an ache in his ribs that felt new, a sharp pain that stung him with every breath. He glanced to the side and saw his right hand had something black, like oil, under his fingernails. Had he scraped at something? The past few days—hours?—were so muddled that he wasn’t sure what had happened. The fact that he could have new injuries and not remember receiving them was... disturbing. The faint black marks on Ardyn’s face were worse.

It took a moment for Prompto to unclench his teeth enough to speak, and his time for a sharp reply was gone.

“Oh, dear.” Ardyn’s face was all sympathy. “I for _got_. This isn’t what you’re _used_ to, is it? Of course, I can always put you in an MT containment unit if you’re feeling _nostalgic—_ “ He smiled at Prompto’s momentary jolt of terror. 

“It’s a shame,” Ardyn continued, “that you’re too old to continue where your dear father left off. How nice it would be to be _useful_ for a change.”

Prompto drew an unsteady breath. “My… what?”

Ardyn smiled at him like an indulgent uncle, but didn’t elaborate. Clearly, he was trying to mess with Prompto’s head—Prompto didn’t _have_ a father. If he did, he would have escaped with him. He wouldn’t have let this happen. Prompto knew he wasn’t the sharpest post on the fence compared to his friends, but he wasn’t a fool.

He had to hold out long enough for Noct and the others to get there. That they’d save him was a given: The look on Noct’s face as Prompto fell had been beyond the point of desperation. He’d find him, even if he had to tear the imperial city to pieces. Prompto had to believe this. Had to—

A new flare of pain brought him back to himself. Ardyn had slapped his sore jaw: Blackness obscured the chancellor’s face for a second. 

“Please do pay attention,” Ardyn said. “It’s so _dull_ talking to oneself.” He tapped Prompto’s cheek gently now, and the pain made Prompto gasp. “I was wondering if we couldn’t try something new. The emperor made a stunning transformation, even in his old age. Of course, the plans we had for you would need to change—perhaps you can rise above your station after all.”

Noct’s first impression of Ardyn wasn’t quite right: The dude wasn’t a creep, he was _insane._ He was about to say as much when the chancellor brightened, turning to the door. 

“Ah! Is that the calvalry I hear?" He stepped forward, cocking his head into the dead silence as though he heard something there. "I do hope they find you soon.” Ardyn cast Prompto a sorrowful look. “Who knows. Perhaps the king will know who you are this time around.”

Ardyn’s meaning wasn’t lost on him. If Noctis— _when_ Noctis—found him, it would only be a matter of time before he learned the truth. Ardyn sauntered past the cell door and closed it with a gentle pat. Prompto watched him disappear into the control room beyond the hallway and struggled to stay awake. He had to last until Noct found him. It couldn’t be that much longer. Wait until Noct gets here, and then he could let go. 

Then he’ll know.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-rescue: The team takes a moment to catch their breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the fluff, because chapter 13 was brutal and I needed them to at least acknowledge what went down.

Half an hour after the team discovered Prompto, Gladio insisted they all stop in a safe room for a breather. Prompto’s legs were still scraped up pretty badly, and there was something about his uncommon silence that was unsettling Gladio and Ignis. Noct spent the walk to the safe room with one hand on Prompto’s back. The touch grounded him, reminded him that for now, Noct wasn’t going anywhere. 

He was still reeling from his friends’ reaction to his past. Years and years of hiding who he was, only to get a punch on the shoulder and a round of casual jokes? Had they known already? Why didn’t they care? _Prompto_ would have cared. He let himself be walked down the hall, flanked by his friends while he grappled with overwhelming bewilderment.

In the safe room, Prompto sat on the bed and propped his feet on Gladio’s knees—Gladio carefully set to bandaging his legs with the ease of long practice. Noctis sat back to back with the gunner, head tilted as though asleep. There seemed to be something different about the young king. Prompto could feel a strange wave of energy radiating from him, with the faintest buzz that Prompto had learned to associate with magic. This wasn’t like the usual magic he’d witnessed, though. He turned to Noct and saw the air pulse and ripple around the ring on his hand. 

“When did you—“ He stopped. Noct gave him a sidelong glance, but said nothing. He looked as exhausted as Prompto felt. Was it an effect of the ring, or the slow, arduous journey through the facility? Prompto thought of King Regis, and hoped that he wouldn’t have to see his friend grow old before his time. 

At his side, Ignis touched Prompto’s right hand. “Is this where the code was?” he asked. “I saw pieces of it before, in your photos. An ironic tattoo, I thought.”

“You could call it that.” Prompto shivered when Ignis gently pulled off his glove. His friend’s fingers ghosted over his wrist.

“When we get back to Insomnia,” Gladio said, “I can give you the name of my tattoo artist. She can make you a sleeve to cover it, if you want.”

“He doesn’t need to cover anything.” Noct’s voice was sharper than usual. Gladio glanced his way, and then down.

“Of course he doesn’t,” said Ignis. “But it’s an option.”

“Thanks, guys.” Prompto grinned nervously. “But I think I’ll keep it. It’s handy, having the keys to an enemy fortress.”

Noct laughed. They sat in silence for a bit, Ignis holding Prompto’s hand, Gladio at his feet, Noctis at his back. Outside, there were daemons, MT soldiers, and one seriously unhinged chancellor, but they could wait. For now, even if it was only for a short while, Prompto was where he belonged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then nothing bad ever happened to any of them again. Thanks for reading! It's my first fanfic in a very long time, so this was an adventure.


End file.
